


Wind

by beekeepercain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 06:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This man had renamed him; he was Zeke now. Neither Gadreel nor Ezekiel, someone else; someone who was both a relief and an unwelcome burden.<br/>As far as new beginnings went, being renamed and given a new purpose was about as good as Gadreel was going to have it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wind

**Author's Note:**

> [Network](http://gadreelnet.tumblr.com/) prompt, wind.
> 
> That is, another part in the series of taking wild guesses mid-season how the mind of this particular feathery meteorite functions. I have no idea how to tag this.

 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Sam Winchester was a soul of note. He'd barely been a flicker when Gadreel had entered, and only his body had seemed of particular interest; in physical appearance, the latter was formidable on its own accord as a muscular, tall and trained frame, but as a vessel, Gadreel hadn't yet seen anything of the kind. It echoed creation in strange ways and boasted a strength that could have undoubtedly endured an archangel. His brother, Dean, was alike in this, and had a radiant soul of his own, but Gadreel had paid little attention to him beyond the initial, quick-passing wonder. It was Sam he concentrated on the most, as Sam was him in many ways that he'd not experienced before. To date, their alliance had strengthened Gadreel but barely affected Sam: as much as the angel would have wanted to claim otherwise, he'd been preoccupied with caring for himself first and foremost. As long as Sam needed him, he had a place to stay. Dean was pushing him and it was clear he no longer wanted part in what had been their agreement, and now viewed Gadreel as a threat. Perhaps for a reason. Perhaps that selfishness Gadreel had shown in his current duty was worth the alarm. But that wasn't what he was now thinking of. Now, he was thinking of Sam.

The man had no idea he was in there. Yet surprisingly, he seemed _aware_ regardless. Never in a thousand years would either of them have told this to Dean, but Sam Winchester was poking around on his own all the same, trying to find the figurative itch inside him. Gadreel was wary and stayed from his way, but day by day, Sam's soul took more ground within the body. It was more efficient at channeling the energy of its own designed body and quite eager to push Gadreel aside just as Dean was, even if it wasn't consciously acknowledging the battle that was being waged in them. The truth of the matter seemed simple enough: this would end badly. One day, one way, Sam would know he was there. The only thing Gadreel now prayed for was that it wouldn't be today.

They stood at the porch of the motel room, staring into the darkness with rain pouring hard from above. The heavy wet drops hit the metal roof and the wood Sam was leaning onto, and Gadreel lurked silently beside him there, experiencing a portion of each warm autumn raindrop that wet the man's flannel-wrapped arms. Each and every shift, sigh and shrug was like the human had been controlling the angel and not the other way around: Gadreel wondered if this was how controlled vessels felt like. He was a puppet; a man-shaped bundle of bound energy that was tied to a being of flesh that kept jerking, twitching and shuffling like there was no comfortable way to stand at all. If it had been possible without making his presence known, Gadreel would have peered into the other's mind to see what was so bothering him. As it was, however, he had no means to do it while Sam had so self-awarely locked out his flow of thought from Gadreel's reach, and the tension and the electrified rain-filled silence was everything the angel got.  
From inside the room they could hear Dean on the phone with the prophet; something about canned tuna. It didn't seem of much importance to the angel, and Sam wasn't listening.

"I can't believe it," the tall man uttered finally into the downpour, straightening his back and reaching their shared hand over onto the equally shared neck to rub at them both, "It doesn't make any sense."

Gadreel was inclined to agree and eager to get back indoors. The cold caused the vessel to burn up extra energy: energy it did not have and drained directly from the celestial core hiding within. Draining, that was, directly from Gadreel, and Gadreel was still wounded. Sometimes he wondered whether he would ever heal completely. The injuries were like a growing dull ache inside, biting wherever and whenever. Like his wings, the rest of him appeared to be full of holes.  
He seemed in luck today, for Sam did turn and wander back in. Dean cast a glance at him and motioned towards his phone, still busy talking. Gadreel forcefully turned their eyes towards the bed and hoped Sam would take the hint.

"I'm going to shower," the man announced, and the angel sighed in relief.

As they turned, Gadreel could feel Sam's brow creasing in bafflement and, frustrated, he told himself to at least _try_ to be less present in future.

  
  


*

 

"Zeke."

"Huh?"

Gadreel fought. The damn soul was putting up a nice fight however, and getting back from the blissful slumber he'd assumed inside was a hassle.

"Nothing," Dean grunted.  
He cast a worried look at Sam and kept driving.  
"It's nothing. Just - _Zeke._ "

"Dean," Sam growled in return, "that's the billionth time you've said that name around me, what is -"

'Zeke' won. Half a minute late to the party and grumpy and barely conscious, but there regardless.  
Gadreel straightened out the cursed half-bow of the vessel's and swallowed the discomfort that reining Sam Winchester back caused him. Dean looked pale and discomfortable, unwilling. Gadreel wished he'd stop calling if he wanted to be alone.

"Are you progressing?" the hunter asked through gritted teeth.

"As I've told you," Gadreel started, barely able to tone down to displeasure from his voice, "I am working on it, but it takes its time."  
Half-truths were his favourite kind. It had started from the beginning.  
Name, the angel attacking Dean had demanded from him as he'd intervened. He'd avoided the question and gained a punch in the face as a reward, or perhaps simply just regardless.  
Name, Dean had asked him, blade barely out of the other angel's still weeping chest.  
Taken aback and fearful of judgement, Gadreel had told him his name was of no concern, hoping the human would take him for what he was and not as a forsaken convict, a criminal, a blasphemy, like he would if Gadreel's true identity would be revealed.  
 _Give me a name_ , the hunter had demanded, and from the circle of unforgiving blessed Fire, Gadreel had given him a name. Not that of his own, as he so mercifully had been granted a way out of it, but that of an angel he wished he could have been more like instead. Ezekiel. And so this man had renamed him; he was Zeke now. Neither Gadreel nor Ezekiel, someone else; someone who was both a relief and an unwelcome burden.

As far as new beginnings went, being renamed and given a new purpose was about as good as Gadreel was going to have it. That much he'd learned, and he _was_ grateful for what he'd been blessed with, even if it wasn't much. With the energy and potential in this vessel, his task could have gone worse. In one of less strength... who knows? He might have killed it trying to regenerate himself first. Killed a person - the vessel he'd had before had grown weak so fast that death would have come to it inevitably if he'd stayed. The thought barely caused him concern, but he wished it one day would. A more functioning conscience - a _human_ conscience - might help him a long way with God's chosen creations.

"That's not good enough," Dean spat at him, returning his mind to the current; "That's just not good enough, Zeke!"

"I know you're frustrated," Gadreel replied dully, "But I assure you, I am doing my best. Your brother -"

"Is a fucking human being!"

"I am aware."

"No, I don't think - look."  
Dean brought the car to a halt and exited it. He slammed the door with unnecessary, uncharacteristic force and came around to pull open the door on Gadreel's side.  
"Come out."

Frowning, the angel stood up and followed Dean to the side of the road. In front of them opened the steep, pine-covered slope of the mountain's side: it fell to the green of the valley below and grew into another ridge, a proud scar in the face of the earth.  
Wind blew hard here, as gentle as it was in comparison to the wind of the night before, and in its cool grasp the long hair of Sam Winchester's was caressed like it was calling them to follow it on its way down, and as Gadreel watched the gust blow through the trees, he wondered how it would have been like to glide with it. As he raised his eyes to the sky, only briefly before facing the demanding stare of Dean's, he saw a young eagle circling there, experiencing what he only longed for.

"Look, I - I'm happy you're helping, okay, and I'm thankful that you are. It's just - this whole situation, it's rubbing me the wrong way. Sam's not - Sam - he didn't really -"  
  
 _Agree_ , Gadreel filled in unhelpfully inside his mind, _to this arrangement. Sam Winchester did not wish to be helped. Sam Winchester, Dean, is locked inside here because of our arrangment, because you care for him, and because I promised to care for him in turn. Because I need him, Dean. Because_ I _need him._

"It doesn't matter," the older brother finally choked as if gasping for air, like the unspoken words had been physically strangling him, "What I'm trying to say is that you can't _stay_. So when's this gonna happen - when are you getting out? Tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, ten years from now, wait, how about _never_?"

Gadreel's frown deepened.  
"I understand your concern," he stated, and hoped he did, "but I have no intention of dishonouring my promise to you. I _am_ healing your brother. I _am_ going to leave when he is strong enough to survive on his own."  
When I am, he added again, locking that part of the sentence deep within the silence of his sealed lips.

"You didn't answer my question. You know," Dean uttered, but his fighting spirit was already dying.  
He looked worn and tired and guilty and burdened with a hundred shades of sadness that Gadreel had little understanding of.  
"That's really bothering me. You don't answer questions. You dodge them."

"I answer as many of them as I can. As for this one, I don't know. It will be a while still. Not ten years, not forever, but I'm unable to say at this point whether it's a month or eight months or more. The only thing I can promise you is that it will not be less than a month."  
 _For either of us._  
Gadreel sighed; he felt as if the other's state of mind was radiating into him, and he felt sad, too. Still a faint smile passed his lips as the wind returned. It lingered in the shapes of his torn, broken feathers and eased the pain he felt from the exposed cores of his wings. It ran up his neck and down his spine and spread over his sides like an embrace. It was a good feeling. It reminded him of what it felt like to be wanted.

"I'm sorry," he heard himself saying.  
The word escaped him so spontaneously he had to make a fast check Sam hadn't pushed through to him, but the soul was quietly on hold and entirely unaware still.

"What?"  
Dean seemed as shocked as Gadreel felt.  
Another smile made itself known upon the angel's features - the man's brother's features - before he looked into the other's eyes and found himself turning serious again. The caress of the wind was gone.

"I'm sorry it has to be this way," he clarified.

Dean's expression tensed - his whole body tensed. Then he shrugged and with that, relaxed again. He turned towards the car but hesitated to move.  
"Just - just try to make it fast, okay? I don't know how long I can hold this up."

Gadreel found himself with a strange urge, one that concerned the physical distance between himself and the man next to him whose suffering had turned so great it showed in his soul like dark venom crossing through the brilliance of colours. He'd seen humans console one another by closeness before, but didn't know if it would be appropriate to lay a hand on his shoulder now or even if Dean would accept such a gesture from him, so he swallowed that need and stood still instead.  
The wind howled high above them as they entered the car and swiftly recalled the unpleasant conversation that Dean had had with Sam before, but the air around them now lay still and dead like whatever it had been that had passed through Gadreel had killed the call of freedom that had tried to pull him back on his wings.


End file.
